


Bruises

by Rasiaa



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blood Kink, Bruises, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasiaa/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: They can never know, because they would never believe it





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> HEY!  
> Wow. Okay. Totally different from my normal stuff it's not even funny like what did I just write. Why.  
> Please leave comments on this one. I want to see if I should continue this universe or should I leave it alone?
> 
> That aside, for those of you following my other piece, "Gone", I need inspiration. I ask that you leave comments either here or there, but either way, I need the prompts. I feel so bad that it's been nearly a month.

It was hot and wet and so, so wrong.

But Mordred allowed himself to be shoved against the wall, he allowed the rough fingers inside and he allowed the blood to slide down his legs. He begged for it.

And Emrys obliged.

…

They never spoke of it after they parted, they just… lived on.

Mordred smiled flirty smiles with Elyan and Percival, both of whom ignored him or flushed to their ears depending on the day. He worked hard during training and even managed to beat Arthur once or twice. And. And Emrys watched. He worked. He tirelessly worked, and worked, and worked.

And Mordred ignored him.

Mostly.

"Fuck-"

"I did not say you could speak, brat," the voice hissed, and Mordred hissed in turn, wrapping his arm around the shoulders in front of him, hiking his legs higher on the hips that moved into his pelvis with every breath. "By the goddess- you're so-"

Mordred smiled into dark hair and then gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as pleasure and pain began to mix. His other arm itched to move but it was pinned to the wall, bound by magic or a hand, Mordred wasn't sure anymore. He didn't care.

And then, Emrys hit that spot- just so- and he leaned back against the wall and panted, seeing stars. His magic stirred in his veins, and he tugged on the shirt that Emrys still wore in warning. Emrys stopped, and he whined, low in his throat. After a second, Mordred opened his eyes, and Emrys immediately began to move again.

He was gone in seconds.

…

He tried only once to turn the tables on Emrys, and it didn't end well.

Emrys laughed at him as Mordred flipped them over in the bed, and he allowed the treatment for only a few minutes. He allowed Mordred to leave bruises on his hips and for the younger to grind down into him, and then, Emrys shoved him off and held him down.

"Come now. Don't be stupid. You could never hold me down."

Then Emrys pressed a kiss to Mordred's mouth, seeking, pressing close. Mordred tilted his head to allow his lover better access and the warlock bit his lip, drawing blood. Mordred tasted the metallic liquid in his mouth and grinned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Emrys and letting his legs fall open. Emrys slid between them easily, and ran his finger down the center of Mordred's chest, the nail magically enchanted to be sharp enough to draw blood. He gasped into the pain and arched his back, and so it continued.

Mordred ended the night bloody and bruised, but Emrys smiled at him in that way- with those eyes- and Mordred didn't care about that, either. "I love you," he told Emrys, and the man smiled.

"I love you, too," Emrys said, quietly, and reached out, golden sparks on his fingertips. Mordred allowed it, just like he allowed everything else.

He allowed himself to be healed, the worst of the wounds disappearing under gentle hands, but Emrys left the bruises. He always did, and Mordred asked, "Why do you bother to heal me at all?"

Emrys looked confused. "Why shouldn't I? I've hurt you."

"But you haven't. I asked for it."

"You would rather walk in pain and let all the knights know?" Emrys countered, and Mordred nodded.

"It would show that I am yours," he insisted, and twined their fingers together as Emrys' lips turned upward sadly.

"It would not," he said in response, leaning over Mordred, who leaned back into the pillows. Emrys pressed him down into the mattress and Mordred could feel the power behind those hands, the magical strength that Emrys always kept hidden and locked away. "Because they can never know about us."

"Why not?" he asked, a bit breathless as Emrys leaned in closer, their lips barely touching. Emrys lowered himself down onto Mordred and leaned his head on his hand, looking at him steadily.

"Because they would never believe it."

…

Mordred hated hunting trips because they took time from he and Emrys.

But not this time- this time, Emrys led him into the trees late at night, sneaking away from Leon's watch with nothing but a whisper on the wind that the blond was easily able to ignore.

"You're so beautiful," Emrys murmured into Mordred's mouth, frantically pulling at clothing to get the druid undressed. "I can't keep going like this."

"Like- ah- what?" Mordred questioned, gasping as Emrys wrapped his hand around him and tugged.

It was fast and messy, no blood and no bruises, but that was okay, Mordred supposed. Emrys took notice, of course he did, and after Mordred was redressed- Emrys had merely opened his breeches and let Mordred blow him quickly without any further clothing moving- Emrys dragged him back into his arms roughly, squeezing his wrist hard enough to possibly break it. Mordred hoped he would.

Emrys must have read his thoughts, because after a few more increasingly painful seconds, the sound of snapping bone broke through Mordred's haze and he bit his lip hard enough to feel the blood run down his face. Emrys healed the bone quickly but left the bruises and darted forward for a kiss. Mordred threw both his arms around his shoulders and backed up when Emrys pushed forward, his back hitting a tree.

They kissed for probably hours, and, because they were only human in the end, they tired. Mordred sank to the forest floor and Emrys fell asleep against his chest, with Mordred's arms still wrapped around him.

…

"Merlin? Mordred?"

Mordred jumped and it woke Emrys like he'd been jolted with lightning. "Arthur!"

"We've been looking everywhere for you," Arthur said, tone full of disapproval and relief. "What on earth were you doing? Mordred, you're hurt."

Mordred stood on shaky legs and exchanged a glance with Emrys, who hesitated.

The druid moved quickly, pressing his forehead to Arthur's and allowed the magic to take hold. "Dammit, Mordred-" he heard, and then Arthur walked away, brain on lockdown for a moment.

Mordred let him go, and Emrys shook his head, taking Mordred's hand. "What have I told you about memories?" he asked. "Arthur's especially."

"We can't let them know, like you said," Mordred responded quietly.

Arthur never did recall finding them in the forest, and after a few magical minutes in the clearing with the rest of the knights, the incident was conveniently forgotten and dismissed.

…

"You're in so much trouble. Messing with their memories like that."

Mordred loved being in trouble as much as he hated it.

Emrys beat him senseless, the silencer around Mordred's room ensuring that Mordred's screams were not heard. The whip wasn't even there and the cuts healed as soon as they were inflicted but the pain and the ache did not. Emrys hit him twenty times and then pressed his back into the bed and was relentless in his movements. Mordred cried, but Emrys was unconcerned.

"Emrys- ah- fuck-"

"Come now."

So Mordred did. Emrys rode him through it, and when Emrys finished, he finally tended to Mordred's tears. He healed with kisses on nights like this, but as always, he left the bruises.

…

Arthur caught sight of the dark, mottled bruises on his hips one day, and unlike the morning in the forest, this could not easily be written off because magic in the heart of Camelot was synonymous with suicide. The hundred people around Arthur when he exclaimed in shock would be impossible to control. Mordred swallowed heavily and his eyes flitted to Emrys, who dropped the armor he was polishing and stood, face pale and eyes wide.

_There is nothing we can do._

Mordred knew that. He bowed his head. Arthur looked even more concerned. "Who did this to you?" Arthur demanded, and before Mordred could dart away, Arthur had taken hold of his shirt and lifted it, revealing bite marks and more purple, blue, black, and yellow bruises. Arthur's countenance softened and he asked, "Was this willing?"

Mordred wrenched himself from Arthur's hold and hissed, "Yes. But even if it wasn't it's not your business. Let me be."

It was quiet.

Mordred ran, and Emrys followed.

…

Time passed, and rumors flew. Mordred became a laughing stock.

Submissive and weak, they said. Foolish. A sucker for pain, what a freak.

Emrys stopped leaving bruises.

…

And more time passed and the days where Mordred woke to a cold bed and a clean, healthy body were the worst. They happened all the time now.

"Please," Mordred begged, flinching away from the gold magic. "Please leave them."

"You're being ridiculed and mocked. I can't stand it."

"And I can't stand not bearing your marks. I can stand being without them, but I can't live without you."

"That's dangerous, Mordred," Emrys sighed, but he lowered his hands, and the magic faded. Mordred inwardly rejoiced. "I love you. But don't rely on me so heavily."

"Why ever not? You're the safest person I could rely on."

Emrys leaned forward and gave him a kiss, and it was soft, and warm, and Mordred leaned into it, searching for reassurance. "Don't leave me alone," Mordred pleaded when they parted, a soft noise leaving Emrys' throat at the plea.

"Never," Emrys promised, and the next kiss was brutal, just the way Mordred liked it, with teeth and blood and pressure.

Emrys pushed him backward and Mordred landed in the mess of sheets with a quiet thud, and he automatically lifted his hands above his head and crossed his wrists. Emrys grinned and bound them with his magic, touching Mordred's face with his fingertips as his other hand trailed downward. "No speaking, no coming, and no touching," Emrys instructed.

Mordred nodded enthusiastically in comprehension, and Emrys reached around the pillows to the side table, tugging out a dull blade, which gleaned in the candlelight. Mordred's heart increased its pace.

The flat of the blade trailed down his torso before landing on his navel, and Emrys tapped the blade three times before digging the tip into the soft skin.

…

Mordred wasn't asked about the rings of dark colors on his wrists in the morning, and Emrys passed him by without a glance, and Arthur eyed him in worry. But Mordred grinned whenever they were mentioned, and so people became unnerved. They stopped bringing it up, and so Emrys stopped healing the bruises.


End file.
